Amy Chelsea Stacie Dee (15 page)

He looks up and wipes his eyes. “We could play a game,” he says.

I nod. I don't trust myself to speak.

He gets up and goes out and brings back Sequence. I haven't moved from my spot. I haven't even moved my hands.

He opens the box and pulls out a piece of paper. “Here's our score sheet. Remember this?” He smiles. “Looks like I was three games ahead.” I can tell that it's my handwriting on the paper. For every game in the house, we had a score sheet and kept track of who had won what. Whenever someone got far ahead, the score sheets would disappear. I guess Mom didn't want one of us to feel bad and threw them out. But I'm glad she didn't throw this one away. I'm not sorry to see a record of this kind of loss.

“We'll see about that,” I say, and I slide off the bed onto the floor.

•   •   •

At the cabin, there were no board games. There was one deck of cards. It had a pattern of red diamonds on the outside, and
there was a hole punched through the middle of the whole deck. The cards had hardly ever been used when Dee and I got there. By the time I left, they were falling apart.

Before Kyle let us outside, before we knew Stacie was pregnant, there was nothing to do besides playing cards and reading the same books, unless we wanted to listen to Kyle play with his dolls. The other things I did were clean and cook, but there was only so much of that to do. So we played. We played everything we could remember: rummy, gin rummy, speed, spit, spite and malice, casino, war. We even played cribbage, marking our scores on paper towels. Sometimes when we were playing something fast-paced, like spit, Stacie would smile, and she would move like she used to move.

After Lola was born, though, Stacie didn't play as often. When Lola was old enough, I started teaching her easy games like crazy eights and go fish, and we tried to get Stacie to join us. Sometimes she would, but other times she would just stare off into space.

•   •   •

Jay wins our game of Sequence. After all these years, I've pretty much forgotten all the strategy. But I don't mind. I feel like I'm a kid again, and I'm hanging around the house with my little brother on a boring summer day. Back then, I didn't appreciate this. I wished that something more exciting would happen. I didn't wish that I was getting invited to parties and all that stuff like Dee. I wished I would get abducted by space aliens and go on an adventure. For some reason, I always imagined that this would happen at the river. I would be down there one
day—sometimes I would be alone and other times I would be with Dee or Jay—and a giant flying saucer would float down, and then a door would open and an alien would stick his head out and invite me to go with them. So I guess it really wasn't an abduction that I was daydreaming about; it was an invitation. The aliens were going to take me away from my normal life.

“I used to dream about getting taken away on a spaceship,” I say.

“Yeah, I know,” Jay says. “You were weird.”

Jay's phone rings. He looks at it.

“It's Lee,” he says. “Hello? Yeah, I told her. I don't think she's mad.” He looks at me.

I take the phone. “Hi,” I say.

“I'm so sorry,” she says. “I never should have pushed you that way. My mom was so upset that day. I felt like I had to do
something
. But I could have gone about it better. I could have asked you in the daytime, given you a chance to get away.”

“It's okay,” I say.

“No, it's not. I . . .” She trails off. I don't like it. I can't stand it when she doesn't talk.

“How's Aunt Hannah?” I ask.

“She's dealing,” Lee says. “She knew it all along, just like I did. But she wants more. She wants to know everything that happened. She thinks that if she knows everything, somehow that will make it better.”

“It won't,” I say.

“I know that,” Lee says. “But I can't help it. I want to know, too. Now that I know she's dead—I mean, now that I can't
deny it anymore—it feels like a hole has opened up in this house. It's like a whirlpool made of everything we can imagine about what happened, and everything is getting sucked inside, and the only way to stop it is to . . . I don't know . . . plug the hole . . . with the truth.”

Lola is screaming.

She's wiggling in Kyle's arms.

“Amy?”

“I don't want to think about it,” I say. It's like the room around me has disappeared, and Jay has disappeared, and everything is filled with light.
I'm looking at the wood wall of the cabin. I can hear Lola screaming. And Barbie is crying somewhere, too. She's behind me, but I can't turn around. And Stacie is lying on the floor, dead. She's on her back, and her head is kind of twisted wrong. Her blond hair is hanging over part of her face, so I can only see one of her eyes.

There is a second where nobody moves. We all stand there staring at her. We don't know she's dead yet. We all hope she might still be alive.

“I'll ask her,” I hear Jay saying. At some point he must have taken the phone from me. “Okay. I don't know. I said I'll ask her. Goodbye, Lee.”

Jay snaps into focus, still sitting on the floor. I am back in my bedroom. The Sequence game is half put away.

“You won the game,” I say.

“Yeah.” He puts the paper in the box without marking down his win, though. That's not right. He's supposed to care that he just won the game. “What just happened, Amy?
Where did you go? Does your doctor know this happens? Does Mom know?”

I gather up the rest of the cards. I didn't want to go back there. This whole time I've been back, I've gone to so many other times, but I haven't gone there. Not for real. Not all the way. I don't want to go back there again.

I am at the bus station. I buy a ticket, and it costs me all the money that lady who picked me up gave me except six bucks.

This is where everything starts. There is nothing before that.

“Amy, you should let them help you. We want you back. Me, Mom, Dad, Lee. That guy Vinnie. Everyone else in town, too. Everyone looked for you. Everyone cares.”

“They care about Amy,” I say. I put the lid back on the box. But I didn't pack everything right. The lid will not go on straight. It looks like it might fly off at any moment.

Jay squints at me.

“He gave us different names,” I say. “My name was Chelsea, and Dee was Stacie.”

“Who gave you different names?” he asks. There's an edge to his voice. He doesn't understand why I'm doing this.

I shake my head.

He picks up the game box. As he lifts it, the box top shifts. It rises up on one end, close to coming partway off. “Aunt Hannah deserves to know,” he says, his voice quiet. “So does Lee. And Mom and Dad. And me.” He looks up, right into my eyes. “We deserve to know because we love you.”

“Jay, I love you, too.”

Mom opens the bedroom door. She sticks her head in and looks around, as if she expects the room to be destroyed.

Jay wipes his eyes, gets to his feet, and pushes past Mom out of the room. At least I said it. I won't go away again without him knowing.

Mom comes in. “You were playing a game?” she asks.

I nod.

“Well. That's good.” She sounds like she's not sure. I'm not sure anymore either. Jay is never going to stop wanting answers. Aunt Hannah and Lee will always want answers. Mom and Dad will always want answers, even if they never actually ask. Everyone who ever knew us wants to know what happened, and they'll want to know until I finally tell them. I've waited a few days, but I can't wait any longer.

Mom steps forward and pulls me into a hug. Her long hair scratches my face. It reminds me of when I was little, when her hair was always falling on me. It smells the same now, like apples. “All that matters is that you're back,” she says. “You don't have to say anything else until you're ready.”

I hug her back. “What if I'm never ready?”

“It doesn't matter,” she says. She lets me go and pulls away. “I just want you to be healthy. If you can tell Dr. Kayla, maybe that will help you.”

“Maybe,” I say.

Mom smiles. Her eyes are a little sad, but the smile is real. She thinks the
maybe
means something, but I don't mean it. I hate having to lie to her. It's not fair.

The room shifts.

He is pushing me.

Lola is screaming.

Barbie is crying.

They are both crying.

He is screaming.

“Get out! Get out! Get out!”

I push back, but he's too strong.

“Take everything!” He lets go of me and grabs my clothes. He throws things at me. A shirt. Jeans. A Safeway bag.

I reach for Barbie, but he's in between us.

“Never come back here!” He pushes me, and I fall back. I hit the floor, and I know I can't stay here. I know if I try to stay, he'll kill me. I crawl to the bag and throw things in. A shirt. Jeans. The Stacie doll. She fell to the ground—I shove her in. I grab Stacie's pink jacket.

He lifts me up and heaves me back, out the door, and I fall again on my backside.

He slams the door, and I hear crying. Kyle, Barbie, Lola. Screams.

I am pounding on the door.

I am screaming.

“Let me in! Kyle, they need me. I'm their mother. They need me!”

He opens the door, but he's still between me and them. He's so big, I can't even see them.

“They need me. Kyle, please.”

“They're mine! You can't take them!” Tears stream down his face. His cheeks are red. He's pouring sweat.

“I didn't mean to.” All I can think of is the girls, in there with him.

“If you tell, I'll kill them.” He slams the door again.

I step back over the porch, stumble down the three steps. I am outside and they are inside, and Kyle means it. I have to leave.

“. . . in two hours,” my mom says.

“Oh,” I say. I have no idea what she just said.

“You didn't forget, did you?” she asks.

Two hours. She's talking about my next appointment with Dr. Kayla.

“No, I didn't forget,” I say.

“Okay.” She smiles, and she looks like she wants to hug me again, but she doesn't. She turns to leave.

“Wait,” I say. I run forward and hug her. I press my cheek into her cheek. “I love you,” I say. I wish it wasn't the last time.

“I love you, too.” She squeezes me.

“I know.” I squeeze her back. “I understand that more than ever.” I close my eyes and feel my mother's arms around me. I feel her heartbeat. Her hair flies across my cheek. She thought I was dead. She changed my room. But she never stopped loving me, not for a single second. She thought about me every hour of every day. She'll never stop thinking about me. I wish I could take all that away. I wish I could wave a magic wand and make her forget, so she could be a woman with one child, and have that be the way it's always been. Because I know there is only one thing I can do now, and it's going to hurt her.

I DON'T HAVE
any money. My parents have paid for every single thing I've needed since I got home. But even if I had money for a bus ticket, I couldn't take the same bus back. That bus stopped a bunch of times. Every single stop is a chance for someone to see me. My face has been all over the TV, and it will be again once they realize I'm gone. I wonder how much it would cost to hire a taxi and whether I could steal it, but I know as soon as I think it that it's crazy. The taxi driver would turn me in. But I need help from someone. And only one person knows enough to understand why I have to go.

It's after midnight, and it's completely dark except for a streetlight way down the block. I sit on my bed and look out my bedroom window. I wonder if I can trust Vinnie. He seemed to understand why I wasn't telling anyone, and he didn't slip even the tiniest bit when we were with Lee. But he thinks I should tell. He's just like everyone else in that way. They all think that everything will be better once the truth comes out. I know
now that it's once, not if. I can't keep it to myself forever. One day the truth about the girls will slip out. I will say something, or Vinnie will, or somebody will just know. And when somebody realizes, I don't think I'll be strong enough, just like I wasn't strong enough to deny to Lee that Dee was dead.

I should never have come home. Every second that I'm here puts them in danger, because I'm weak. There's a part of me that wants to talk. There's a part of me that wants to spill out every single second. Words and tears would come out, and then I wouldn't have to carry them. Then they would belong to someone else.

I want to tell Mom. I want to tell Lee. I even want to tell Aunt Hannah. As long as I'm here, I will never be strong enough to be silent.

As long as I'm not with them, I will want to tell someone about them.

This is not my home anymore. I am not Amy. I wish I were Amy, but Amy is dead as much as Dee.
Amy MacArthur.
The name rolls around inside my brain. For six years, I hardly let myself think it. And now I have to put it away again. I have to be Chelsea, no last name, a living doll, and I have to be her until Kyle dies.

I like it here. I like being in my old bedroom. I like seeing the MacArthur mailbox. I like walking down this familiar hall. I like seeing my mom and my dad and Jay. I like not having to be the one to cook and clean. I like going to the library. I like being alone, in the quiet, with a door between me and the rest of the world.

Tears roll down my face. I can no longer see out the window. And I have blocked out this thing for so long, this awful truth, this truth that has kept me from leaving for days now, even though I've known I should—that has kept me here for an impossible month. I like being away from them. I never have to give another bath, make another meal, clean up another mess. I like not having to take care of anyone but myself. Now I'm sobbing. I don't want to go back. I don't want to see Kyle. I don't want to remember.

But I can't stand to forget them. What if I stay here and I begin to forget? What if I stop having these spells where I'm suddenly there, and I only have normal memories? Then I will never be able to see them. I will never be able to hold Barbie or play with Lola or tell them stories. I will never be able to see them laugh. I will never see Stacie again.

What if my memories fade away?

I know that no matter how much I want to stay here, I can never let them stay with him alone. I can never risk the chance that I might tell someone about them. I can never stay here and be Amy.

I've made my decision, but I don't do anything about it. I stare at the window, and I cry until I can't anymore. And then I sleep for a whole day. I don't sleep very well. I lie awake and picture myself packing up my Safeway bag and leaving, and climbing into Vinnie's car. And then we drive away into the night. Or then the police come, and they swarm us, and they ask me and ask me and ask me. And then the loop starts over. I am packing my Safeway bag. The Stacie doll goes in first,
then my clothes, the purple clothes. I have to leave most of the things Lee bought me behind. I am packing; I am packing; I am packing.

My mom knocks on the door. “Amy? Are you all right? It's almost time for dinner.”

“I don't feel good,” I say.

“You'll feel better if you eat,” she says.

“Can you save something for me?” I'll need to eat before I leave. But I can't face her. I can't tell her goodbye, and I can't act like everything is normal.

“Okay, honey,” she says. But she's still there. “Should we take you to a doctor?”

“It's just a little bug,” I say.

Finally, she goes away. I hear the bare murmur of voices from down the hall. I just made some progress with Jay, and now it's over. Dad will go back to Colorado. I told Mom and Jay that I loved them, but not Dad. If I go out there now and say it, he'll know something is going on. But they know I'm alive, I tell myself. It won't be as bad for them this time.

I force myself to sit up. Now, while they're distracted, is a good time. I pick up the phone and listen to the dial tone. The paper towel with Vinnie's phone number is sitting on top of the stack of books on the windowsill. I dial.

“Hello,” he says.

“Hi,” I say.

“Amy! Hey, how are you?”

“I'm okay,” I say.

“Great! Are you ready to go back to the library? We could
do something else, too. Lots to do around here if you like nature. We could go for a hike. Now that I have a car, there's lots of places. Unless you don't like hiking. Maybe you want to go to the beach. We can drive to the beach, or—”

“Vinnie,” I cut him off. “I need a favor.”

“Okay, sure, Amy. Whatever you need.”

I take a deep breath. It comes out more like a gasp.

“You can drive if you want,” he says. “You're already better than I am.”

“No,” I say. “What I want is for you to drive.”

“Oh, okay, sure,” he says. “Where do you want to go?”

“I want to go back,” I say.

“Back?”

“Back.”

“Oh.” There is silence.

“Vinnie—”

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” he asks.

“If I stay here, I'm going to tell,” I say. “I told you what happens if I do that.”

•   •   •

It is dark, and I am packing. It takes longer than it did when I was imagining it. I pick up each piece of clothing. Most things I haven't even worn. There's a dress that comes up far above my knees. It still has its tags on it. There's a pair of sandals that are not that practical for walking. It doesn't make any sense to take them. I pack two pairs of jeans and four T-shirts, and I wear my new athletic shoes. I wear the jacket I arrived in—Stacie's pink jacket. I also take the book with the
headless girl on the cover. I know it's wrong of me to take it because it doesn't belong to me, but there's something about it. When I'm back, I'll have plenty of time to read it again, to understand what she liked about that boy she went off with.

Never come back here!
I hear him scream. But I haven't told anyone. When I come back, it will be just me. He won't hurt them if I come back alone. He'll have realized that he can't take care of them, realized they need me. And we can all go somewhere else, somewhere no one could ever follow me. I try to think of what I'll say when I walk up that long hill, when I open up the cabin door.
It's just me. I'm alone.
I imagine myself yelling it.
It's just Chelsea! I'm all alone!

If he doesn't let me back, I'll . . . I shut off the thought. My mind fills with solid black. There is no if or then or but, just one step and then another.

I take my bag into the empty kitchen and open up the refrigerator. My mom has left me a dinner. It's already on a plate covered in plastic wrap. I take it out, and my stomach is churning into knots. I'm the farthest thing from hungry. But I eat it. I eat a slice of meat loaf made with oatmeal instead of breadcrumbs. I eat four red potatoes and six pieces of broccoli. I eat it all cold, but it doesn't matter. It still tastes good. It tastes so good that I almost don't let myself taste it. It's just food, I tell myself. I'm only eating because I have to eat. I want to wash the dish, but I'm afraid that will make too much noise, so I just leave it in the sink.

I take one last look around the kitchen. It hasn't changed much since I was a kid, but now I'm seeing it from a different
angle. This is where Mom made food for us. And I know why she did it now. I know she might not have always liked it, and maybe some days she wished someone else would do it. But she had to make sure we ate. It wasn't just because she loved us; it was because we followed from her like a hand follows from an arm. If we didn't eat, she couldn't have eaten. And if we died, she would never be whole.

There is a pad of scratch paper by the phone. I didn't plan to leave any kind of note, but now I can't help myself. I can't let Mom and Dad worry more than they have to. This time, they have to know that I'm leaving of my own free will and I'm okay.

“Mom and Dad,” I write. And then I add, “and Jay.” He deserves to be included. “I have to leave. I hope someday I'll see you again, and I'll be able to explain everything. Please don't follow me, and don't call the police. I have a good reason for doing this. Please trust me. I wish I could stay.” I don't know what else to say. What I've written isn't enough. It sounds like it was written by a robot. But I don't have anything better. “I love you,” I write. And then I sign it, “Amy.” I write the
A
the way I used to when I was a kid, with a big round
A
and the tail of the
Y
curling around the whole word. Then I make two little round dots in the
A
, so it looks like the
A
is a sort of half-smiling face. It doesn't fit with the note I just wrote, the one with no personality at all. It doesn't fit with anything about me now. But I leave it. I head back through the living room and out the front door, closing it as quietly as I can. I walk down the driveway and turn right. I walk past the MacArthur mailbox
with its chipping paint, and I keep walking two more blocks until I get to the place where I'm supposed to meet Vinnie. But he's not here yet. I think about sitting down on the curb, but I'm too restless. I pace up and down the sidewalk beneath a sign that says
2 HOUR PARKING
. And then I hear the unmistakable lurch of Vinnie's driving, and the car skids to a stop in front of me.

But it's not just Vinnie. Lee is in the backseat.

I freeze.

Lee jumps out. “Amy, don't be mad,” she says.

Vinnie rolls down the window. “I'm sorry,” he says. “Lee called me right after you did.”

“So you told her?” I whisper-yell.

“I didn't tell anyone,” Lee says.

“Why are you here?”

“If you want to go back, that's your choice,” Lee says. “We shouldn't lock you up any more than he did.”

“But.”

“But nothing,” Lee says. “We just want to help.”

I don't believe her for a second, but I climb into the front seat. I can't go back to my house. I will just have to think of something. I will have to be strong enough to take whatever they throw at me.

Vinnie starts driving. I haven't told him where to go, but he has figured out that he needs to head for the highway.

“What are you going to do when you get there?” Lee asks.

I say nothing.

“Are you going to get revenge? Like, try to kill him?”

I say nothing.

“You don't
like
him, do you?”

“No, I don't
like
him!” I yell.

Vinnie jumps, and the car swerves.

“But you want to go live with him again?” Lee asks. Vinnie didn't tell her everything. I let my breath out. Lee doesn't know about them. Maybe she will let me go. She can't care about me that much. “Amy, there's this thing called Stockholm syndrome,” Lee says. “It's when you start to identify with your kidnapper. Like, because you spend so much time together—”

“I don't
identify
with him,” I snap.

He lifts Barbie in the air. He spins her around.

He slams the nurse Barbie on the table.

He puts a hand around Lola's neck.

“Okay, well . . .” Lee searches for words.

“But you lived with him for so long,” Vinnie says. “Maybe you don't realize that there's another way. That you can stay with your parents. You can stay if you want to.”

“You
know
I can't,” I say. He knows. Why is he doing this? Why does he have to make it harder? But he's driving. We're heading north.

“What if he kills you, too?” Lee asks. She leans forward, sticks her head between the two front seats. “You saw what happened to my mom. Do you want your mom to be crazy, too?”